


this morning blue

by likebrightness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa’s been arranging furniture elsewhere in the house, dropping in on Clarke occasionally, in what will be their bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this morning blue

**Author's Note:**

> For @socallmedaisy. Say hi on tumblr @likebrightness

Clarke is meticulous in preparing.

Lexa’s been arranging furniture elsewhere in the house, dropping in on Clarke occasionally, in what will be their bedroom. Lexa is done with two rooms before Clarke has finished with the ridiculous amount of blue painter’s tape she bought. She layers three different drop cloths on the floor. She starts with a brush on the edges— _it’s called a cut in_ , she says like she didn’t learn that from Google earlier today—and then finally gets her pan ready. They picked out a medium blue, like the sky just before dawn, for three walls, with a cream accent. Lexa chose the color because it reminds her of Clarke’s eyes, but she hasn’t told Clarke that and expects she only will under the influence of alcohol at some later date.

Lexa finishes another room before checking in to see Clarke finally using a roller.

Or, attempting to use a roller.

She coats it, completely, with a thick layer of paint, drips before she even reaches the wall, and then rolls fast enough to splatter the paint everywhere.

Lexa reacts before she can stop herself. “Clarke, be careful.”

Clarke didn’t know Lexa was there, and she jumps, smearing paint jaggedly on the wall.

“What?” she says. “I put down drop cloths.”

“Yes, but,” Lexa says, “we’re not trying to paint the ceiling, are we?”

“I’m not painting the ceiling.”

“There may be a little spatter, Clarke.”

Clarke scowls, but it breaks into a laugh when Lexa smiles at her.

“You’re an _artist_ , Clarke,” Lexa says. “How are you so bad with a paint roller?”

“Are you making fun of me? In my own home?” Clarke’s mock affront never fails to be the cutest thing Lexa has ever seen.  
  
Lexa steps forward and takes the roller out of Clarke’s hand. “In _our_ home,” she says, and Clarke beams.  
  
Lexa sets the roller in the pan so she can wrap her arms around her girlfriend.  
  
“Our home,” Clarke says.

Clarke runs her hands up and down Lexa’s back, and Lexa thinks she’s being sweet before she realizes Clarke’s just wiping paint on her.

“Are you serious?”

Clarke just grins and drags her messy hand across Lexa’s chest. Lexa lets Clarke go and reaches for the roller again. Clarke tries to deflect her, and both of Lexa’s hands end up fully in the pan of paint.

Clarke freezes, lips pressed together trying not to laugh.

“When you’re crying uncle, remember that you started this,” Lexa says, and attacks.

Clarke squeals, but there’s no way to avoid the paint. Lexa gets her hand around one wrist, paint squeezing wet through her fingers as she grips. Clarke catches Lexa’s other arm at her elbow. It takes a moment of struggle, but Lexa manages to twist and smear paint along Clarke’s shoulder, catching more of her skin than her tank.

Clarke releases Lexa’s elbow and rubs her hand over the one Lexa has on her wrist, gathering extra paint. She distracts Lexa with a kiss, then leaves a streak across her forehead.

“That’s _cheating_ ,” Lexa sputters.

Clarke laughs, and kisses her again, dragging her wet fingers along the shell of Lexa’s ear.

Lexa doesn’t even try to fight. She lets Clarke kiss her, doesn’t mind when Clarke catches more paint from her hands and rubs it along her collarbone. Lexa kneels, and Clarke comes down with her until they’re just making out on the floor.

“Who’s crying uncle?” Clarke murmurs, and Lexa picks then to roll them over so Clarke is on top of her, just for a moment, before on her back again—directly in the pan of paint.

“Oh my god, _Lexa!_ ” Clarke shrieks.

Lexa is laughing too hard to prevent a counter attack. Clarke squirms underneath her, flips Lexa onto her back, then she launches herself on top of her, her back to Lexa’s front. She plants her feet and grinds her back down, smearing paint _everywhere_.

They both laugh and laugh and laugh, and Clarke eventually turns over and kisses her again. Lexa slides her arms around Clarke and holds her close. They’re both completely covered with paint, wet and tacky, but they don’t move. They lie on the floor of their new bedroom, in their new house, that they bought together. Their first place.

Lexa got her grandmother’s ring out of the safe after their third date, and it’s tucked into a box with her law books—something Clarke would never go into of her own accord—but that will come later. Right now, she just enjoys the feeling of her girlfriend on top of her in the house where they are going to start their life together. She tears up—because she _loves_ this girl, and because she’s a crier—and holds Clarke a little tighter.  

“Good thing you put so many drop cloths down,” Lexa says. She kisses Clarke’s neck and her lips come away blue.  


End file.
